


Algolagnia

by satan_copilots_my_tardis



Series: Aftercare [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blood Kink, Dom/sub, Family Feels, Fear Play, Fluff and Smut, Knifeplay, M/M, Movie Night, Painplay, Roman catches feelings, praise kink-mild, subdrop-mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 03:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14440290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satan_copilots_my_tardis/pseuds/satan_copilots_my_tardis
Summary: Algolagnia: Finding pleasure/sexual gratification from pain.ORIt's group movie night and the film puts certain ideas into Roman's head. Ideas about knives and pain and things that he's never thought of before. Thankfully Virgil doesn't seem put off by those ideas.





	Algolagnia

**Author's Note:**

> I sinned again. I really need to stop doing that. Please be aware of the tags.

“Guys?” The summons is expected and light, a welcome tether for each of them to grab hold of and pull themselves into the real world through Thomas’s mind. Well, except Virgil, who’s almost always got one foot into the living room.

“Good evening, Thomas!” He greets cheerfully, rising up in his usual spot.

“Heya kiddo, what do you have planned for us tonight?” Patton beams, pillow hugged under one arm and clothed in his cat onesie.

“Summoned on time for once.” Logan says, in his own onesie and without a tie to straighten he settles for adjusting his glasses. “Good job following your schedule, Thomas.”

“Thanks Logan, Virgil helped me stay on track so I didn’t cut into movie night.” Roman glances over and sure enough the black clad facet is already in his usual spot and just gives the rest of them a lazy wave.

He quickly turns his attention back to Thomas. “Wonderful and what film are we viewing this evening? A Disney classic? A musical? _The Princess Bride_ , perhaps?”

“Oh I love that movie.” Patton coos. Without the cameras in their usual spots, and without anyone else around they’re free to move forward and Patton bounds over to his usual spot on the sofa. Eager as ever to be as close to everyone as possible he presses into the center where the two halves of the couch meet.

“Good ideas, but no.” Thomas says reaching for a DVD case on the coffee table. “Tonight was Logan’s pick and he wanted to do something a little different.” Roman’s brows shoot up to his hairline.

“GPAverage wanted to do something different?” He squints at the other facet playfully. “Deceit is that you?”

“Not a humorous statement Roman.” He sniffs before moving to his own seat, the end closest to where he usually stands and as far away from Patton as he can manage. Roman suspects that’s more to do with the fact that Thomas likes to between them for some reason rather than Logan outrightly avoiding the other facet, but he can never be entirely sure. “Tonight we will be watching a psychological thriller.”

“Oh goodie. Guess I’m going to be getting even more over time this week.” Virgil mumbles before he slinks over to his usual spot. He leans back against the couch, sitting on the floor sandwiched between Thomas and Patton’s legs, careful not to touch either.

“Or we could just watch the movie and then repress any bad feelings we might get from it, huh?” Thomas playfully pleads, simpering smile on his face and brows hiked high so he looks over earnest. Virgil rolls his eyes and Thomas sighs. “Well it was worth a try.”

“What’s it about?” Patton asks Logan as Thomas reaches for the remote and starts fiddling with the TV. That’s his cue to move and Roman ignores the slightly disappointed curl in his stomach as he makes his way over to the unoccupied part of the couch. He wonders if lingering around on the floor is an old habit, one from when Virgil used to show up uninvited during movie night. He’s a part of the group now and they’ve told him as much. But no matter how many times he points out that there’s plenty of room on his side of the couch, the other facet never complies.

“The film is summarized as a woman kidnapped by a killer who keeps her trapped within his home. While she tries to find a way to escape she discovers remnants of others who have been taken before her and starts trying to piece together what happened to them. Things apparently reach a breaking point when she is freed from the killer’s--”

“Whoa save something for the film, Specs.” Virgil mutters.

“I assure you that was all in the spoiler free description of the film.” He says primly.

“Sounds pretty dark.” Roman adds, looking over at Patton. “Are you going to be alright with this, padre?”

“Oh it’s just a movie, Roman. I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

* * *

 

Patton is not in fact fine. It had been about twenty minutes and he’d already surrendered to spending the night with his face buried against Thomas’s shoulder, Logan murmuring about logical inconsistencies that would make the situations of the movie impossible in real life. Just like the impossibility of creating physical manifestations of different facets of one's personality and then having a bi weekly movie night. Roman tries to shake the distinctly Virgil-like thought and focus back on the film.

Logan hadn’t been lying about the plot of the film. It had started off with a woman being taken by a killer and him trapping her in his house. But that had been a series of flashbacks in the first five minutes. He can’t help but feel that the director hadn’t given the plot enough time to breath and really raise the stakes for the woman onscreen. From those flashbacks the film took a sharp leap forward, the killer bringing new victims home and forcing the woman to watch and even participate in the murders. And then things get philosophical and Roman kind of loses interest. This is definitely Logan’s kind of movie.

He doesn’t really start paying attention until about, what he hopes, is the halfway point in the film when the woman escapes from the killer. Or he lets her go? There’s a weird scene at a train station that she’s run to. He catches up to her as she begs the strangers around her for help until he just stolls up and hands her a ticket back to her hometown. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her board the train, and as the doors shut the film suddenly turns black and white. Roman’s more than a little lost until color suddenly returns in the shape of a cute blonde bartender she seeks out. His name is on some list or something and Roman mourns the painful lack of dialog. It’s not even a silent film, the writers just don’t seem to like giving their actors any lines! But at least there’s something new to focus on now. Whoever that actor is he could certainly be the prince of his dreams for the rest of the film.

He probably should have realized that the strategic use of color was supposed to show that the bartender was also a killer or related to the killer, but come on, the movie is too complicated for him to follow. Logan seems to be enjoying it though, commenting to Thomas and Patton every now and then about some technical aspect of the filmography. And Virgil, well he’s watching, chewing on his thumbnail. It’s not a particularly nervous gesture, just one that tells Roman he’s as invested in the movie as Logan.

Roman turns back to the screen to find the woman and bartender driving across a long stretch of road bracketed by a dark forest, black and white mile markers being eaten away in the span of seconds and slowly, slowly, the picture returns to color. The car pulls up a dirt drive to the same little cabin that the woman had escaped from before and the music goes low and thrumming. Roman finds himself on the edge of his seat, sucked back into the tension as the actors on screen creep closer to the front door. There’s light coming from inside the cabin. And as the blond reaches for the handle--

Patton yelps and launches himself, over Thomas, and into Logan’s side, as the door onscreen is pulled open by the killer. He’s the only one who’s surprised though, as the woman and bartender both greet the killer carefully and then--

“Why would they go back in there?” Virgil mutters.

“Because-- Patton calm down it’s only a film-- the two are clearly suffering for a severe case of stockholm syndrome at the very least or even, perhaps, a dramatized version of  folie à trois or ‘a madness of three’,” he goes on but Virgil just rolls his eyes and focuses his attention back on the screen.

Roman does the same only to see the blond following the killer into the murder basement. The woman watching him go with wide frightened eyes. Well so much for that eye candy. He glances at the clock. Almost an hour and a half into this nightmare, but knowing Logan the movie is probably close to three hours. He looks back at the screen and sucks in a sharp breath. Well. Can’t say he was expecting that.

The blonde’s hands are curled into the collar of the killer’s shirt and he’s kissing the other man like his life depends on it. Which, hell, he has no idea what’s going on with the plot of this movie anymore so it very well could. Points to Logan for finding something a little less heteronormative than the average film. He’s still in the negatives for picking such a long complicated artsy movie but Roman will take what he can get.

But this was not what he was expecting to get during movie night. On screen the blond is breathing hard as the killer presses a scalpel to his throat, pressing his back to the operating table they’d seen him use so effectively earlier in the movie. The bartender’s thoat bobs as he swallows hard, hard enough that the slight movement applies just enough pressure against the glint of the blade that blood begins to bead up stark crimson against his skin. His own blood roars in his ears at the image, heat flaring across his skin as, after another moment of hesitation the killer decides not to slit the blond’s throat and dives back down to lick away the trickle of blood gliding down his skin. Oh shit. The camera pans tastefully away but Roman’s too far gone to pay the rest of the movie any attention.

He tries to take a few deep breaths as inconspicuously as he can. This is all Virgil’s fault. Had it not been for him and his ‘fear play’ as he called it he would have never looked at a display such as that with anything more than a vaguely curious eye. But since they’d begun sleeping together last month, well, things are different now. Now the memories of sharp teeth and claws leaving bright pink scratches across his skin press to the forefront of his mind. Now he can’t help but wonder how it would feel to swap places with the bartender. The press of a blade against his throat as Virgil kissed him, the awareness that any false move could end it all. Roman’s heart hammers in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his blood even without Anxiety’s touch.

Shit, Virgil! He’d been so focused on keeping outwardly calm even as his thoughts ran wild. He glances over at the others. Logan is being pestered by both Thomas and Morality so they can catch the subtler plot points and he doesn’t seem to have garnered any of their collective attention. Hesitantly he shifts his gaze to Virgil. Black lined eyes bore into his and sends heat flaring up across the back of his neck. Shit. He’d definitely caught wind of Roman’s reaction.

Roman abruptly turns his attention back to the screen.

He is keenly aware that Virgil doesn’t look back at the movie once before the credits finally roll.

* * *

 

“Wait I’m still confused.” Thomas says as the screen fades to black. Patton is stretched out across his and Logan’s laps, and Thomas does his best not to shift too suddenly and dislodge the normally cheerful facet as he turns to talk to Logan.  “Was this movie like… pro murder?”

“Hmm, I don’t believe so.” He answers after a long pause. “I believe the purpose of this film was to show how possible it is for one with a weaker sense of identity that it is easy be taken in by a more manipulative or powerful other. The movie wanted us to identify with the main character, see her as a woman in a desperate situation doing whatever she could to survive and then see how slowly over time trauma and circumstance can break down the barriers between what is right and wrong. When she was first kidnapped she thought that the killing was wrong, but by the end of the movie her identity and thinking had been reshaped to feel as though--”  
“Okay, that’s enough.” Virgil suddenly speaks up, His voice comes out low and echoing and Roman might stop breathing.

Thomas yelps slightly, likely startled by the sudden degree he’s feeling Virgil’s influence. “Wh-what’s up, Virgil buddy?”

Virgil glances over at Roman a look that does nothing to quell the heat curling through his belly. Then he turns back to Thomas and the others. “You’re freaking Patton out.” His voice shifts into his normal range again and Roman remembers how to breathe.

“Am I going to turn evil?” Patton’s voice escapes in a thin weak tremble and that douses the heat in his gut entirely. Roman watches Thomas elbow Logan, mouthing.

“Apologize,” above Patton’s head.

“Patton there is no need for concern.” Logan says quickly. “It was just a movie and it’s likely if you ever did start to believe that murder is the correct course of action--” Patton whimpers into his pillow and if he didn’t feel so bad for him, Roman might laugh at how quickly Logan tries to backtrack. “But that will not happen. Because you have all of us looking after you.” Patton peeks out from behind his pillow. “We would never intentionally put you in a position where you have to make a choice so severe.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“We’ve got you, padre.” He adds supportively.

“If that’s settled I’m going to duck--” a weak,

“Quack.” From Patton--

“back to my room.” Virgil says, pushing himself up from the floor and heading back over to his usual spot.

“Really?” Thomas asks almost hopefully. “You’re not going to stick around? Keep me up and staring at the ceiling as I think about how quickly my life could fall apart if I was put in that situation?”

“Do you want me to stick around and do that?” Anxiety asks with a quirked brow.

“No, nope! I’m good.”

Virgil nods. “Besides, that was dark, even for me. Try to pick something a little more cheerful next time around, poindexter.”

“I will take that into consideration, good night Virgil.”

“See you later, Virg.” Thomas waves.

“Good night, kiddo.”

“Sweet dreams, Hollywood Undead.” Virgil disappears in his usual blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fashion without further comment.

“ Roman,” He looks away from the empty stairwell when Logan says his name.

“Yes?”

“If possible could you set aside some time to discuss the film with me tomorrow? I wish to construct and insightful review and feel that your thoughts about the creative aspects of storytelling would lend it depth that the review might otherwise lack were I to write it on my own.” Yikes, the thought of a long winded discussion on the movie fills Roman with dread. He doesn’t even know the main character’s name.

“Or, perhaps, instead of that Thomas could use this as a jumping off point for his next Sanders Sides video?”

“Oh?” Logan raises one skeptical brow.

“Yes,” he scrambles for a possible idea. “He and Patton could perhaps talk more in depth about how morality is shaped and why it can change over time.”

Thomas hums slightly. “Actually that could be an interesting idea.” Really? Ten points to Roman, he mentally cheers.

“I concur. We could have a detailed discussion of moral particularism and even go so far as to discuss the works of psychologists Lawrence Kohlberg and Jean Piaget who have widely studied theories on the formation and growth of morality over the course of one’s lifespan.”

“It also might give us a good opening to drag Deceit back into the video.” Thomas muses.

“What why? Why would you want to do that Thomas?” Logan asks, adjusting his glasses.

“I mean I figure I should get to know all of my sides, even the dark ones. Plus a lot of people have been asking about him since he last showed up. Besides you might actually like him if you spend a little more time with him, Logan. I mean he was on your level when it came to throwing out philosophy and facts before he started lying.”

Logan scowls at the reminder. “Yes well, I suppose we can discuss this further tomorrow.”

“Yes, your welcome for the brilliant idea, and with that I take my leave. A prince needs his beauty sleep.” Roman says quickly before he gets sucked into any further discussion and sinks back down into his room.

* * *

 

He’d hoped that the conversation with Logan and the concern for Patton would have helped clear his head, but as he returns to his room he finds that no such thing has happened. His normally resplendent room, draped in finery only he could conjure has been replaced with a far more sinister setting, the same sinister setting as the movie in fact. Roman looks dejectedly about at the basement murder room that he’s crafted for himself out of a disturbingly solid gray mist. How is he supposed to get rid of a fantasy this elaborately detailed without drawing any attention to himself? Roman walks further into his redecorated room.

As in the film the floors are concrete, a drain placed in the center of the room with lingering rusty stains around the edges. The wall to the left of him is a row of glass cabinets with medical supplies in them, counters and a sink, the clean lines sharply contrasting the opposite wall with its rustic hanging display of power tools, pliers, and saws. Roman swallows hard at the sight of it all. He hesitantly pauses when he gets to the center of the room, stopping beside the metal operating table adorned with thick leather straps and the instruments table next to it. The scalpel on the tray almost seems to smile at him as it gleams in the low light.

A soft knock echoes off his door and around the cavernous room. His heartbeat kicks into overdrive as he frantically tries to shift the room back to normal. “Roman?”

Oh thank the Blue Fairy, it’s Virgil’s voice speaking through the door in a discrete tone. He rushes to the door and cracks it only enough to stick his head out into the hall, trying to use his body to block the other facet’s sight into the room. “Yes?” He draws out the word, tries for his usual casual playfulness.

Virgil cocks a brow at him. “Can I come in?”

“Ah, well, that’s--” Before he can stumble his way to an excuse the other side is leaning forward whispering.

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice all that earlier?”

Well, there goes the acting innocent routine. “Oh alright, come on.” He waves the other in quickly and shuts the door once Virgil’s inside.

“Oh,” the sound escapes the other on the softest hiss of air, suckerpuched awe filling the word. Roman feels embarrassment swell through him and opens his mouth to make some excuse but the words never quite reach his lips. He’s too distracted watching Virgil look around the room, eventually stopping by the instruments tray and reaching to pick up-- He nearly chokes on his own tongue at the sight of Virgil with the scalpel in hand, somehow a thousand times more appealing than he had imagined it.

Virgil glances over at him and quickly puts the blade down and clears his throat slightly. “I take it the movie was… inspiring?” He struggles for words but Virgil just sighs and gives him a tentative smile. A little half quirk of his lips that makes Roman’s stomach do flips. “That’s fine, Roman. I’m fine trying just about anything you’re up for, but we can’t just jump into something like this.” He gestures around the room. “This is dangerous.” His tone goes low and worried. “I could hurt you.”

“Ah, yes, I understand.” He hesitates. “And, well, what if I,” he tries to clear away the lump of shame that builds in his throat. “What if that’s an… appealing thought, to me?”

Virgil leans back against the operating table. “Then we’re going to need to adjust our rules.”  

* * *

 

“Safe words.” Virgil instructs one final time, pulling his hoodie off and tossing it onto one of the counters lining the side of the room.

“Green, yellow, red.” Roman parrots back, heart pounding and throat dry. Maybe he’d pushed too far. This was certainly a more detailed request than any of the other times. “Virgil we don’t have to do this--”

“No,” the other shakes his head, drags his hand over his face. “I _want_ to. I just want to make sure we’re both ready.”

He doesn’t push, just nods and says tentatively, “Green.”

Virgil takes another breath and then he straightens to his full height. “Sit on the table.” The operating table he’s been leaning against for the past hour suddenly ceases to be just a convenient surface to lounge against. Just like the times before Virgil’s entire demeanor shifts into something darker and threatening. His low voice echoes around the cavernous room and makes Roman shiver more than the feeling of the cold table under him. “Put your hands on the table.”  Roman grips the cool metal edge and watches as Virgil approaches him with smooth measured steps. “Good. Keep them there.”

The other facet doesn’t immediately approach him. Instead he turns to the instrument table, to the few items they’d agreed upon earlier. Roman watches as careful fingers trace over the flats of the blades. A hunting knife, a bone-saw, a box cutter, his breath catches when Virgil touches the scalpel. Virgil had agreed on no blindfolds today, had agreed to let him see, and Roman thinks he likes putting on a show. He supposes that it would be impossible for all of them to not be just a touch over dramatic at times. Logan would probably vehemently disagree with that idea.

The sound of the slap registers before Roman realizes what happened. Heat explodes in his cheek, burning almost as fiercely as the shot of adrenaline that comes at Virgil’s touch, the force snapping his head to the side. He tightens his grip on the table to keep from pressing his fingers to the stinging mark. Shit. The pain thrums under his skin, spreads a dull creeping heat along his nerves that makes him tremble on the table.

“Do I have your full attention again, Roman?”  

Fuck. His breath goes a little ragged as he turns to look at Virgil again. “Y-yes.”

“Good. Don’t start daydreaming.” In any other situation he’d snort and roll his eyes. Tell Virgil he can’t help doing his job. But now he just manages a tight nod. Seeming satisfied with that answer Virgil goes back to the instrument tray and picks up the box cutter. Roman tries not to let his disappointment show. Virgil glances at him, a searching look.

“Green.”

And then he’s pushing his thighs apart so he can stand between them. Roman holds very still as Virgil’s free hand takes hold of his collar. He slowly slides open the blade of the box cutter and each quiet, _click, click, click_ of the blade unsheathing sends goosebumps across his skin. But Virgil’s careful not to touch him. Deliberately not elevating his fear.  He watches Roman’s face intently as he brings the blade closer, slips it under the first button of his shirt, and with the whisper of threads parting, slices it clean off. The button falls between them, tinkles against the concrete and Roman knows he’s screwed. Virgil makes his way slowly through each button, a little symphony of plastic hitting the concrete that Roman can hardly hear over the roar of blood in his ears. His skin burns, aching to be touched, and his breaths come in short uneven rattles. It’s ridiculous. Virgil’s hardly laid a hand on him, but the anticipation is almost enough to burn him to cinders.

“Hands.” Virgil breathes. Roman releases the death grip he’s had on the table so that Virgil can remove his shirt. As soon as it’s discarded, before the stinging in his palms has stopped, he’s gripping the metal again, hot from his skin. The cool air of the room does nothing to stop the way his blood sings under his skin. “Good boy.”

The praise stops them both short. Virgil moves back slightly, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing around soundless, shapeless words. A shudder ripples down Roman’s spine, sending an intoxicated burn with it. “ _Green._ ” He breathes before Virgil can panic.

And then, finally, _finally_ , the box cutter clatters back to the instruments tray and Virgil is cupping his cheeks between his hands and kissing him. The press of his palm reawakens the sting in his cheek and Roman moans against Virgil’s lips. Fear pulses, slow and heady through him, kicks his heart into overdrive and makes his muscles shake with the effort it takes to stay still as Virgil licks into his mouth. Blunt teeth catch his lower lip hard and he keens at the pain, hips twitching forward for friction. Virgil angles himself away, denying him that satisfaction. When he breaks the kiss Roman can’t help but lean forward after him.

“Patience.” The other commands, palm pressed to his chest to halt the movement. Roman doesn’t know if it’s how close the touch is to his heart or if he’s already too keyed up from the scene play, but feeling Virgil’s hand pressed to his sternum makes his entire chest seize with terror. His head spins, lungs too tight, and head starting to spin. “I’ve got you, breathe.” Virgil presses his words against his throat, drops his hand to rub soothing circles into the skin of his hip. It takes effort, so much effort and breathing shouldn’t take this much effort, but Roman manages to take a few broken gulps of air. “That’s it, good.” When he manages fight off the hyperventilation Virgil moves back again and Roman wants to reach out and drag him back. Until he sees Virgil’s fingers wrapped around the scalpel.  

The other facet moves in again and Roman tries to focus on not vibrating out of his skin as the blade gleams in the low light. He’s not expecting how cold the metal feels when Virgil presses the flat of the blade carefully along his jaw. Roman holds as still as he can. No matter how careful they’re being this is still a knife. Impossibly sharp and so lethal, pressed so close to the delicate flesh of his neck. One wrong move and Virgil could disfigure him or slit his throat. He wonders if he’d feel the cut in the split second it would take before he started to bleed out. His cock throbs as he wonders what Virgil would look like splattered in his blood.

And then the blade is moving along the curve of his neck and settling in the dip of skin above his collarbone. Virgil’s gaze is cold and calculating and Roman thinks that look is sharper than any of the blades in this room.

“Green.” He breathes, barely able to speak through the haze of lust.

He doesn’t feel the initial cut. The scalpel is too sharp for that. It’s only after Virgil pulls it from his skin, when his skin starts stinging sharply as blood beads up along the cut. Roman breathes a moan. He can’t see the mark, but he can see the thin trickle of blood as it the droplets start sliding across his skin. Virgil presses a thumb to one of the crimson trails, smears the bead across his skin. He pauses and then raises his finger and presses it to Roman’s lower lip, painting his own blood across his lips. Fuck, he opens his mouth, drags his tongue over the pad of Virgil’s thumb. The metallic tang of copper and iron bursts inside his mouth and abruptly Virgil replaces his finger with his lips, shares in the flavor of Roman’s blood.

Fuck he needs more. Roman doesn’t even realize what he’s doing before they’re parting so he can finish dragging Virgil’s shirt over his head. The other facet seems to realize his misstep at the same time as he does. Roman drops the shirt to the side, waiting for Virgil to do something other than hold dangerously still.

“When did I say you could let go of the table?” He hisses, breath hot and smelling like blood as it wafts against his cheek. Roman shudders.

“I’m sorry?” He tries feebly, body tense and humming with anticipation at what Virgil will do in retaliation.

“You will be.” Virgil assures him. “Hands back on the table. Move them again and I’ll nail them down.” The threat should not send heat shooting to his cock, but it does and all Roman can do is keen and comply. Virgil picks the scalpel back up and presses it to his sternum, low enough on his chest Roman can watches as he adds pressure ever so slowly until,

“Virg--” he moans as the tip of the blade sinks into his skin. The cut, shallow as it is, stings and throbs as Virgil drags the blade down another inch or so. Blood wells up around the blade, stains the silver red, and Roman doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard. “Fuck!” No, scratch that, he’s never been this hard after Virgil’s head dips down and presses his tongue against the weeping cut. The pressure and slick of his spit makes the cut throb and sting and Roman almost makes the mistake of reaching to tangle his fingers into his hair, to hold him there as his tongue laps away the blood. “Y-yellow.” he gasps. Virgil pulls back carefully and his lips are flecked with blood. “I am going to come in my pants like a teenager if you keep that up.”

He groans when the other just gives him a positively _dastardly_ smirk before his free hand cups him through his pants. Groans flow freely from his throat as Virgil continues to stroke him through the clothe teasingly. He’s just about to beg for a reprieve when Virgil finally lets up, murmuring, “You’re going to want to hold very still for this next part.”

Roman is about to ask what he means by that when he looks down and forgets how to breathe. Virgil slowly brings the scalpel towards the button on his pants, slowly enough he can use his safe word if he needs to. He should. He really, really should. The sight of that wicked blade anywhere near his cock should be enough to stop him cold. But the roar of flame under his skin does not falter. Virgil carefully slips the blade into the buttonhole and slits it open before setting the scalpel to the side. “Lean back and lift your hips.” He instructs, and through the echo in his voice Roman can hear how his control is slipping. The thought of how he must look to the other, bleeding and flushed, and so eager to please makes his cheeks burn as he does exactly what he’s told. Roman’s half lying on the operating table now and a shiver runs through him as his hot skin hits the metal. “Good boy.” Virgil doesn’t waste time pulling off his pants and underwear, carefully avoiding touching his dripping cock as he does so. “Come here,” and Roman immediately complies, mouth hot and eager when Virgil kisses him as he reaches for the instrument tray again.

“Virgil,” he gasps, the familiar feeling of the blade pushing against the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

“Shh.” He murmurs, tone soft and sweet, and so different from the threat of the knife on his skin. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You know there’s an artery here. If I press just a little too hard,” A whimper escapes his throat and there’s no hiding the way Virgil’s words are effecting him, not when the other can see the way his cock twitches at the threat. “I wouldn’t.” he promises. “But you already know that. You know I’ll never break you so badly I won’t be able to put you back together again.” When he slices open his skin this time the movement is sure and quick, stinging like a snake bite against his thigh. Roman moans, loud and broken, as blood trickles lazily down his leg.

He doesn’t hear the clatter of the scalpel against the tray, or the pop the cap of the lub makes, too distracted as Virgil bites bruises into the column of his throat as his newest cut starts aching in harmony with the previous two. But when cool slick fingers circle his entrance his entire body jerks. He hisses out another string of curses as Virgil presses a finger into him, his legs tightening around the other’s clothed hips, and forcing more blood to weep from the cut on his thigh. It must catch the other’s attention because as he slips another finger inside of Roman, stretching and scissoring his fingers, his free hand rests on his thigh, his blunt nail scraping over the cut.

“Fuck, Virgil!” He curls his fingers, pressing them against the spot that leaves him a writhing mess. He rolls his hips back against the touches, knuckles turning white from gripping the table. Roman tries to focus on the pain in his palms, on the sting of the cuts, anything to help him delay the inevitable as Virgil works him open. He strikes a careful balance between the sensations, the pain throbbing along his skin, the tang of fear beneath it, the rhythm of his breaths and pulse of Virgil’s fingers fucking into him.

And then the bastard starts talking. “Fuck, Ro, you should see yourself.” And his voice is a breathless echo that rumbles through him. “‘Should’ve cut you open years ago.”

“Fuck, need you, now.” He hisses and Virgil doesn’t waste any more time. “Let me touch you.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Bippity boppity boo.” Roman snaps, taking Virgil’s laugh as permission. He drags the other facet in by his belt loops, before his hands are reaching for Virgil’s button and fly. It doesn’t take long to push the fabric out of the way and slick up his cock. And then Virgil’s mouth is back on his and he’s pressing in, and in, and in, and they’re panting together.

He waits for Roman to adjust, nails scraping over the cut on his thigh and it doesn’t take long before he’s rocking his hips back. After all the teasing the pace they settle into is bruising and Roman wouldn’t have it any other way. He all but howls when Virgil wraps a hand around his cock and begins to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Roman loses track of time. His body is fraught with sensation, pain and fear and pleasure mingling into an intoxicating blur that leaves him strung out, his release teetering on a knife’s edge. He’s close, he can feel the way Virgil’s thrusts get deeper, the shift in his pace as he gets closer, but it’s not enough he needs,

“More,” he gasps. The hand not occupied with his cock comes up and tangles into his hair, tugging back so hard Roman strains his neck back to keep Virgil from ripping out his hair. He keens, the ache in his scalp good, so good, but still not enough. “More, Virg, please,”

“Tell me,” the other pants hips snapping forward bruisingly. “Tell me what you need.”

His mind reels, searching, fumbling, trying to find something, anything-- “Your teeth,” he almost sobs, and the fantasy rushes from him, black smoke pushing into Virgil’s mouth as he inhales sharply. Roman catches a glimpse of the obsidian fangs for a split second before Virgil buries them into the junction of his neck and shoulder. He feels his skin pop under the pressure of the sharpened fangs, the sensation singular and jarring, and then he’s coming with a scream. Virgil doesn’t last much longer, his hips snapping forward a few more times before he’s spilling inside of him.

Roman’s not sure how much time passes, floating, Virgil pressed against him. But eventually the air of the room starts to cool the sweat clinging to his skin and she shivers.

“You alright?” Virgil murmurs, leaning back, voice and teeth returned to normal, and looking at him with intense scrutiny.

“Mmhmm,” he can’t quite form words. He can’t tell if his mind is floating away from the rest of him or if he’s being pulled down into a soothing inky sea. Distantly he remembers Virgil mentioning sensations like this could happen after a scene. Sub-something, he’d called it. It was a while ago. It hadn’t seemed too concerning. Virgil presses a kiss to his temple and he closes his eyes, hums again happily.

“Will you be alright if I move, just for a second. I just need to grab some things.”

“‘M fine.” Roman murmurs. Virgil gives him a skeptical look before he moves away, fixing his pants and then grabbing the instruments tray as he goes. Roman tries to shake himself, tether his mind back to the rest of him. But it’s hard. He tries to focus and only finds himself suddenly cold, the air chilling him far more severely than it had a moment before. He shivers and the sensation is sharp and unpleasant. And then Virgil is back in front of him.

“Here.” He drapes his hoodie over his shoulders and Roman’s not sure which makes him feel better, the clothe or just seeing Virgil in front of him again. “I’m going to clean you up.” he murmurs before handing him a glass off of the new tray he’s brought over. “Drink this for me.”

Roman takes the cup, muscles loose and shaky, but he manages it. He takes slow sips of water as Virgil cleans the blood and cum from his skin with a warm damp cloth. It’s a good thing his fantasy had been so accurate in recreating the movie’s murder basement. All the medical supplies included he realizes as Virgil smears some antibiotic ointment over his cuts. The sharp sting shakes some of the fog out of his brain, pulls him back to reality a little more.

By the time Virgil’s finishes taping gauze over the cuts Roman sets the empty glass aside. “Thanks.”

Virgil glances up at him, gives him that crooked smile that makes his heart flutter. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.” He mumbles.

“That’s not surprising. Tilt your head to the side for me.” He does and for the first time is clear headed enough to see the thin blue latex gloves covering the other facet’s hands.

“What’s with the gloves, Elvira?”

“This is going to sting a little.” Virgil warns before careful fingers press a pungent alcohol soaked cotton to what he assumes is the bite mark he’d begged for. It does in fact, sting like a bitch and Roman finds it hard to believe he was so into the sensation… however long ago their scene ended. “I don’t want you to slip back under. The gloves keep me from making you scared.” He finishes swabbing over the wound and turns to get a fresh piece of gauze. Roman watches as he does. His movements are sure and easy, like they have been since they started doing this, whatever this is. A sharp ache makes itself known behind his ribs. He’s always so careful with him. Virgil turns back with the gauze and tape. “Turn.” He instructs easily, a request, not the rumbling of an order. Still he complies immediately and holds still as the other finishes patching him up.

Roman half wants to convince himself that the reason he’s wanted Virgil close since that first time is just an extended reaction to their scene play. But he can’t deny how much he’d wanted the other to sit beside him on the couch earlier. How he’s looked forward to seeing him like he looks forward to performing.  How the inky black shape of him sometimes lingers in his room, not doing anything but staying close, keeping him company. Roman wants to convince himself that he’s not developing a genuine attachment to the other facet.

“Oh,” Virgil says softly, hands moving away from his neck. “There we go.” The metal table under him melts away, is replaced with the familiar luxurious feel of his own bed. Roman refocuses on the room around them and finds the murder basement fading into wisps of dull gray fog. “How do you feel?”

“Better, more together than before.” He clarifies, trying to shove the other feelings away for the time being.

“Is there anything you want me to do?” Now that his immediate needs have been taken care of all Roman really wants is to collapse back against his bed.

“No, what about you?”

“I’m fine.” He says with a small smile. And maybe it’s how close they are, or just how much time they’ve been spending together as of late, but doesn’t need Deceit in the room to point out the lie.

“Thought you said we had to be honest if we wanted this to work.” He asks, catches the other’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Virgil sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s late, I was wondering if you would mind if I stayed.”

Roman’s heart stutters behind his ribs. “No, yes,” shit he’s definitely supposed to be smoother than this. “I mean,” he says more carefully, aiming for his usual charming smile. “Yes you can stay, no I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, we should probably change though.” Or get dressed in Roman’s case. It takes no effort for either of them, a snap of their fingers and their sleep clothes are in place. Roman wonders if the long sleeved shirt, long pants, and sock covered feet are all an effort to keep as much of his skin covered as possible.

They don’t talk much as they settle into the bed beside each other. It feels natural, peaceful even. Roman’s loathed to break that peace but he can’t seem to help himself. He half sits up, turning to see the other facet’s face. “Virgil?”

He quirks a brow, challenging, full of his usual easy sarcasm that Roman so loves to battle against. “Yeah?”

For the first time in his life words fail him. So he takes Thomas’s old advice. A smaller more realistic gesture. Virgil presses back into the kiss, and there’s a little burst of nervousness that comes with the touch, but the way the other’s mouth opens up to the kiss, the way he pulls Roman close is comfortable. When they finally part after a few long minutes Virgil huffs a little laugh against his lips.

“I take it you’re going to want cuddles as aftercare?”

He still can’t force the sincerity of his feelings into the space between them so he just flashes his most winning of smiles. “Obviously.”

Virgil laughs again. “No complaints here.”

When they finally get settled, curled tight against each other, Virgil carefully refraining from skin-to-skin contact, Roman can’t deny that the comfort of their bodies pressed together chases away the lingering shakiness left from their scene. Even if it does nothing for sticky sweet heat that’s been building up in his chest.

* * *

 

“So what are we watching this week?” Roman asks two weeks later as they’re summoned into Thomas’s living room. He doesn’t even hear Thomas’s answer as he stares at the couch. “You’re in my seat.” He says, voice quiet and shocked. And sure enough Virgil is lounging across the couch where he usually sits. The other facet looks up at him and Roman could swear he sees a flash of hurt in those dark rimmed eyes.

“Hey come on, Roman, you’ve gotta share.” Patton scolds him.

“Ah, no I wasn’t complaining, I was just surprised.” He says quickly, trying to reassure both Patton and Virgil. “It’s about time you stopped sulking on the floor.” He flops onto the empty cushion beside Virgil and tries not to let his elation show. “What are we watching?” he asks again reaching for the popcorn bowl that’s been placed on the coffee table and offering it to Virgil.

“For some reason Virgil wants to watch this new horror movie which is supposed to be super graphic.” Thomas mutters dejectedly. A creeping dread fills Roman as he turns to face the other facet.

Virgil returns his look with the most shit eating grin possible. “What? Don’t look so nervous, Princey. A little fear’s good to get the heart pumping.”


End file.
